


Protecting my Devotion

by Ange_de_la_Mort



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Arguing, Bad Jokes about Literary Devices, Bickering, Established Relationship, Implied sub!Hux, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5750950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ange_de_la_Mort/pseuds/Ange_de_la_Mort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even in these rare moments where they don’t fight, they still argue, albeit not that mean-spirited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protecting my Devotion

“You were in my dreams tonight.”

Those are the first words he utters this morning after drifting in and out of consciousness, and then – after it dawns on him that he won’t manage to fall asleep again –, after having spent far too many minutes to watch Ren out of half-closed eyes (Ren is already awake and already mostly dressed, wearing pants and shirt and no boots at all, and Hux wonders not for the first time how he manages. It’s always chilly in his quarters, aboard the whole ship due to the ventilation systems, and there are days when Hux thinks about how many layers of clothing he could sport without looking like a complete idiot).

Now, Ren gifts him with a glance out of the corners of his eyes and a curl of his upper lip before he goes back to scribbling – no, sketching – something onto a page of Hux’ notebook (he actually dislikes having his property touched, but this is one of the many things he has learned to endure when it comes to Kylo Ren). “I feel flattered.”

“I mean it. Literally. I could feel you in my head.” Hux sighs quietly and rolls onto his back – and promptly regrets having moved at all. His body is still sore from the night before, and the merciless lights of the ceiling illumination dig into his eyes like bright, hot steel. He shifts a little, laying an arm across his eyes to block the offending light out. “I don’t appreciate it when you’re inside me.”

No. Damn. Wrong choice of words.

He cannot see it, but he knows Ren is grinning at him, lips splitting into one of these wide, stupid smiles that makes Hux want to kiss and punch him at the same time. At the sound of Ren actually _chuckling_ , he groans. It’s too early for this. “In my _dreams_ ,” he clarifies, exasperated.

“If you don’t want me to see, then stop offering.”

“Oh yes, sure. Thank you for sharing your wisdom, _Lord_ Ren. Whatever would I do without your helpful advices? … what are you doing there, anyway?” There is no response, which doesn’t surprise him too much, but a short, easy answer – or any answer at all – would sometimes be nice for a change instead of cryptic mumbling or the silent treatment. But then, really, ‘short’ and 'easy’ are words that Ren’s vocabulary decidedly lacks.

He rolls his eyes and listens to the ongoing sound of a pen scratching over paper for a few more moments before he gives into his curiosity, lifting the arm from his eyes and slowly making his way to first sitting – which stings in places he doesn’t want to think about right now, because it is still to early for all of this – and then finally getting up. A small, displeased sound escapes his lips as hit naked feet meet the floor, and he wraps the thin blanket around his hips to create an illusion of modesty.

_It’s definitely too early for this_ , he thinks, and he thinks it once more when he sees what Ren is doing. “You’re drawing me?” he asks, partly bewildered, partly amused.

“I have actually just finished drawing you.”

“Drooling on my pillow.”

“You do that sometimes.”

“Charming,” he says, deadpan, and in a way, it is. Not the drooling,of course not, but the part where Ren actually gets up early to watch him sleep. That is a thought that should frighten him and _would_ frighten lesser men, but Hux finds it truly, oddly, charming. It feels like one of these little actions that make the few solitary moments they have more real, more meaningful. It’s so different from them being up each other’s throat constantly, fighting and snarling and arguing, but Hux has to admit that, sometimes, he even finds _that_ charming.

He looks at the drawing again, this time a little closer, and wonders if this is truly how he is – with the seemingly peaceful expression on his face (one that Hux himself has never seen in any kind of mirror before) that is only betrayed by the furrowed brow indicating troubled nights – or how Ren sees him, how Ren wants to see him. The Hux in the drawing features a prominent bite mark on neck, one just above where the collar of his uniform would hide it, and the real Hux raises a hand to bring it to his neck. Even though he doesn’t feel any kind of pain or irritation on his skin, the way Ren smiles indicates that the mark exists. Hux shoots him an annoyed glance, and says: “I think you drew my nose too big.”

Ren settles his eyes on him, or maybe he has watched him all along, his brows raised, his gaze scrutinizing. After a few seconds, he shakes his head slightly, just once. Hux scowls at him. Ren chuckles lowly.

“I didn’t know you possessed any kinds of artistic tendencies,” he snaps, just to be irritating.

Ren waits with an answer. He crosses his long, long legs (slowly, making sure Hux watches, and, to his shame, he does) and shrugs. “I didn’t know you wrote bad poetry when you were fifteen.”

Hux glares at him, feeling the tips of his ears burn (Ren grin speaks volumes, so he has noticed this, too) and crossing his arms in front of his chest defensively. “Well.” He clears his throat. “And now they pay me to write my own speeches. See where that got me.”

“Says a lot about your speeches, to be honest.” Before Hux can growl at that, he adds: “I expect you to do the next one in iambic pentameter. Wonder if anyone would notice it. Except for Phasma, maybe.”

“Or I could bullshit a haiku on the spot about how much I want to punch you in the face all day.”

“Wouldn’t that require you to be able to count to five, at least?” Ren drawls, his eyes warm and dark, and holding no malice, only fondness. It’s a rare sight, one that Hux treasures away in his mind and soul.

It’s what makes Hux smile for the first time this morning. “Fine. You’re in a good mood, I see. How nice for you. However, I am not. I’m freezing and I’m off to take a shower. Care to join me?”

Ren pretends to think a moment. “I actually thought of accidentally leaving the drawing in the officer’s canteen while you were distracted.” Hux glares. Ren laughs. Hux rolls his eyes. “I do care. About the shower,” Ren says and languidly gets to his feet, gently resting one large hand on Hux’ shoulder (and isn’t it almost funny, Hux thinks, how these hands that have been stained with blood a thousand times can still be this gentle from time to time?). “I’ll even settle with you in it, cramping all the space.”

“Always a pleasure to see how generous you can be,” Hux quips and leads the way.

(The drawing does end up in the canteen, anyway. Hux is furious. Ren thinks it’s worth it. It takes a week before Hux speaks to him again, and then only because he finds himself laughing at Ren actually performing an excuse in iambic pentameter.)

**Author's Note:**

> Also on [Tumblr](http://ariodat.tumblr.com/post/137515559851/protecting-my-devotion)


End file.
